The Hunter Games Missing Scene
by dljensengirl88
Summary: My "missing scene" from The Hunter Games episode where Sam pulls Dean off Metatron. The look Sam gives Dean, like he wanted to lay into him for not controlling his urges and Dean just looked like the adorable little boy he can be no matter how old he gets. It made me wanna extend that scene. WARNING: Discipline fic ahead!


The door exploded under the force of Castiel's angelic power, his focused blue eyes aglow with determination. Sam waited anxiously for the wayward angel to clear a path so he could get into the room where Dean held a shouting Metatron by the collar, the silver blade glinting in his experienced hand, cutting red streams into the chest of the errant celestial being who had dared to taunt him one too many times.

Sam jumped in front of Cas as soon as the obstacle was cleared. The smoke from the blast tickled his throat, causing him to cough while he searched through the gray haze. Seeing his brother once again seeming to morph into something akin to the demonic creature he had only recently saved him from, Sam sucked in a scared breath, simultaneously worried for his brother as well as for his brother's chance – in the form of Metatron – of possible salvation from the mark that continued to hold him captive. He broke into a run, wanting to close the gap between them as quickly as humanly possible. He was tired of losing. He was determined to make the plan work. First he had to get Dean back under control.

"No! Dean! Hey! Stop! Stop!" Sam seized his brother who was entrenched in his efforts to carve the truth from his prisoner. It took too much of Sam's strength to pull Dean away from the angel, with Dean struggling to get back to the task at hand and somewhat uncertain as to why he was being pulled away in the first place. Castiel checked on Metatron. He knew returning heaven's hostage in this condition would cause more trouble for him, though that worry took second place only to the troubling condition his friend was now in.

Sam pulled and pulled until Dean's fingers could no longer reach the vessel seated before him. Sam slammed his brother against the metal shelving located in the front part of the room, bracing himself for a possible fight with Dean while simultaneously trying to watch his back where Metatron still remained. He looked at Dean incredulously, as if amazed that he had to say anything to him at all. "You were killing him," he hissed.

"I have to take him back," Cas interjected, startling Sam who had already turned all his attention to chastising his brother. He threw a protective hand onto Dean's shoulder upon being snapped out of discipline mode at the sound of Cas' voice, as if now the one who needed protection was Dean from Metatron – or maybe even from a perturbed Cas.

"Cas, this won't happened again," Sam vowed, keeping his pressure on Dean's shoulder lest he launch at Metatron again.

"I gave my word," Cas replied. "I have fences to mend in heaven and as it is, I have a lot to explain.

"If you ever ask me for help again," a weary Metatron breathed, "I will choose death." Cas shook his head and began to pull his prisoner from the danger of the room and the restrained hunter. "You realize it's going to get worse, Dean," Metatron called as he was pulled along. "You're going to get worse!"

Dean couldn't look at the source of the voice of doom. He breathed deeply, trying to regain the control he thought he had previously had; trying to understand where exactly he had lost control and just what did Metatron mean? _"The river shall end at the source."_ How much more cryptic could the mousy-looking man have been?

"Hey," Sam called to him again once the heaven-bound pair had left the room, pulling Dean out of his thoughts. Dean winced, recognizing the voice Sam used when he was in discipline mode. He had gone too far. He hadn't meant to. Sam had been continuously warning him to watch himself, to not act out in unreasonable hostility, and that would be one of the very reasons Sam would not be lenient with him now. It's not like he hadn't told him.

"Are you listening to me, Dean?" Sam demanded, lowering his face to his bowed brother's, hoping to finally catch the older hunter's eye and get a proper response. Previously they had mutually agreed that given the absence of both their parental figures and their surrogate ones as well, they would keep each other in line whenever it was deemed necessary by either of them. To be fair, the one who was feeling transgressed upon or who was feeling the other was simply too far over their line, the Winchester line – a line that was already too far away for the average human to even see – would give the transgressor a warning that they were approaching the danger zone. Ever the baseball metaphor fanatic, Dean had set the limit at three strikes and Sam had readily agreed. They had three chances to be warned by the other before the transgressed brother had the right to go all authoritarian on the other's ass and the transgressor had to take it. If by chance the transgressor thought the other was not being fair in their punishment or even in the call for punishment in the first place, Cas could make the final decision.

Dean wasn't looking for Cas' intervention now, however. He knew Sam had warned him. After they dealt with the resurfacing of Kate the werewolf, Sam admitted during the ride home that he knew Dean wasn't 100%, but he wasn't issuing a warning then. That was more the windup. When Dean had unintentionally opened a can of whoopass on the deviants who had tried to hurt Claire, Sam had officially warned him then as he demanded that Dean tell him that he had to do what he did. And Dean had confessed later that he had indeed crossed the line. When Sam tried to get Dean to talk about the growing anger in him when he killed – or _over_ killed – that shapeshifting maid? That one was a silent but obvious warning as Sam tried to ask what had set Dean off like that. Even this very evening when Sam was adamant about not recovering the blade no matter what Metatron said, now he was growing impatient with Dean and was surely not going to let any other offenses get by him. And so he did not.

"You are getting out of control, Dean," Sam explained with all the patience he could muster. Dean simply nodded sheepishly and muttered to his shoes, "I know. I'm sorry."

"What the hell were you thinking?" Sam continued.

"I…I wasn't," Dean replied, finally looking Sam in the eye, albeit it in deference to Sam's current authority.

"Hell no, you weren't!" Sam retorted, roughly running his hands through his hair, trying not to lay those same hands on his brother just yet, not before he had his say. He huffed and pushed off Dean. Stepping back, Sam sighed deeply as he looked up at the ceiling, shaking his head at his brother's stubbornness.

"We needed answers, man," Dean tried to defend himself.

Sam's head snapped back to the willful man before him. "Not like this, Dean! What good is Metatron dead? How helpful can he be then, huh?" Sam bellowed, getting closer to Dean again. "Have you forgotten how _dangerous_ he is? Have you forgotten he's already _killed_ you once?!" Now Sam was getting close to shrieking as the memory of his brother's most recent and, he had assumed, permanent death came flooding back to him, sinking his heart all over again. "Have you forgotten how dangerous _you_ can be with all this unchecked aggression?! Aggression that I told you _you_ needed to get a handle on!" Sam needed to catch his breath from the yelling. He stepped back to regain his composure.

Dean bit his lip as he looked at his angry brother, knowing full well that Sam was right. His aggression was always churning inside him, like he was possessed by Mr. Hyde himself. It didn't even take much to set him off, although this situation wasn't one of his triggers. Right now, whatever Sammy decided he needed to do to him he would accept. He had scared his Sammy all over again with his behavior and – he would never admit – scared himself in the process. He should never have come in here. He should have talked to Sam after Crowley's call alerting him that he had recovered the blade. He should have listened to Sam because clearly he was not yet fully in control of his faculties and his family could see that. Sam and Cas were clearly growing more worried and he was barely trying to allay their fears, too caught up in this mission that had a mind of its own.

"You," Sam said now, pointing disapproving finger at Dean before throwing up his hands. "You are just so fucking bullheaded, man." Sam just shook his head again understanding the shared Winchester temperament all too well as he started to calm down and waver in his resolve to teach his brother the much-needed lesson he was clearly asking for. Spank Dean or not? Which would it be? Let him off this one last time because he could relate or try to rein him in because he could relate?

"Damn it!" Sam said to no one in particular as he paced the floor. He could understand that Dean wasn't totally to blame for how the mark and blade affected him. He wanted to be as fair as possible and now he paced, silently at war with himself while Dean watched with what seemed to be a certain innocence, knowing too that Sam wanted what was best for him, but was still not quite decided what that would be. And since Dean wasn't so sure of the best course of action himself, he left this one to Sam's best judgment. He wouldn't enjoy it if Sam opted to punish him, but he would double his efforts to do better no matter which way Sam landed. Dean owed him that.

So Dean pressed his body back against the metal shelves where Sam had left him and hugged himself, alternately watching Sam and watching the floor while waiting for Sam to tell him his next move. If Dean knew what was good for him, _his_ next move would be not to move at all. Not until Sam said so.

Sam had turned back into the room where Dean had held Metatron, the table first to catch his eye. The better to bend Dean over it and give him what for. He then looked at the chair Metatron had just occupied. The better for Sam to sit and punish Dean over his knee. He even glanced at the chains on the far wall where, if he were pushed, he'd string Dean up and really lay down the law, but he didn't think he needed to go quite that far – yet. No, this one seemed somewhere in the middle of the road. Not so offensive that Sam needed to chain his brother and really lay into him. Not so small that a simple bare-assed spanking over bended knee would be enough. The table was likely the midpoint here and his hand would not be enough either.

Turning back to his waiting brother, Sam sighed again. Dean could see Sam had made a decision as his eyes flicked to Sam's fingers that were finding the end of his belt and starting to push it through the loop as he unfastened it. Dean swallowed but took one nervous step forward, shaking his arms now as though he were preparing for some sort of battle instead of preparing to not fight at all. "Where?" he asked Sam simply.

Sam stepped back to give him room, slipping the worn brown belt from his jeans loops, and motioned his head toward the metal table. It was amazing that Sam had those puppy dog eyes even now when the one who should be sad is Dean. But he could see this was Sam's way of saying this was going to be hurting him as much as it was going to be hurting Dean.

Dean nodded his understanding and gave Sam his full respect by not looking him in the eye as he slowly walked past. He shrugged off his jacket as he did so and carefully placed it across the seat of the chair. He knew he was dragging this out a wee bit, but he needed to make sure Cas and Metatron were as far out of earshot as possible. It was bad enough Cas knew about these occasional sessions, as trusted as he was. Dean didn't need the enemy chiming in on their activities, possibly using it to his advantage or worse – telling all of heaven what he wasn't so sure they didn't already know anyway.

"Stop stalling, Dean," Sam warned.

"I'm not. I'm not. Can we just…" Dean started, looking hopefully at Sam.

"Just what?" Sam asked suspiciously.

"Just make sure we're alone," Dean finished. Sam chuckled at Dean's need to save face. Leave it to Dean to misplace his concerns. "I think your possibly going full serial killer trumps your worries about being heard, Dean." Sam chuckled again. "But don't sweat it. Down here, no one can hear you scream."

Dean temporarily forgot his place of humility, looking up and narrowing his eyes at his brother as he gave Sam his own bitchface now, the joke not going totally unappreciated though. Sam stifled a small laugh and cleared his throat, immediately resuming his serious tone.

"We're starting this slow, but it's going to heat up, Dean. I think you need it," Sam said, folding the belt in his hands now. Dean fell back into submission knowing this meant Sam was going to let him keep his jeans to start, but midway he'd have to lose them. The message had to be driven home by leather on flesh.

"Assume the position," Sam ordered, stepping closer to the side of the table now, belt dangling from his waiting hand at his side.

"Sammy, I'm really sorry," Dean said. "I..I'm not trying to stop you. I just want you to know I really didn't mean for this to happen. I wasn't thinking…"

"I know, Dean," Sam interrupted. "Just save it, though. Huh? Let's get this done."

"Yeah," Dean agreed as he slid both hands across the cool surface of the table, only bending his body at the slightest of angles, palms down as if he were just being patted down, one leg shifted slightly behind the other. It was no matter to Sam. He knew his brother would be laid out and truly repentant soon enough.

"You were supposed to be in the kitchen making a sandwich, Dean," Sam started, pacing a bit at first. "That's where you said you were going."

"Yes, Sam," Dean agreed.

"Not in here holding your own interrogation," Sam continued.

"No, Sam. I was wrong. I'm sorry," Dean admitted.

"Not in here nearly _killing_ …," Sam's tone growing harsher now as he suddenly swung, the belt connecting with great force to Dean's ass. "…our one possible hope of saving you!" Dean's breath caught at the feel of the leather. Sam was using full power already. This did not bode well.

"I'm sorry, Sam," Dean exhaled, bracing himself for the next blow.

"You must…" Sam struck again at dead center of Dean's behind. "…talk to me."

Dean huffed and allowed his head to hang a little further down as he nodded in response. "Yes, Sam. I'm sorry."

"You can't…" the next blow somehow seemed even harder than the last. "…do this alone," Sam finished. Dean grunted and closed his eyes as the pain began to settle into his flesh. He breathed a controlling breath, falling to his elbows now. "Yes, Sam," he huffed into the table.

"You won't…" and the next lash was focused on Dean's right butt cheek. "…do this alone," Sam lectured. Dean gritted his teeth unable to respond this time. Sam was clearly whaling on him full force because he didn't want to have to repeat this lesson. Dean didn't want him to have to either.

"I need you to _hear_ me, Dean." Sam stepped into the blow that struck Dean's left asscheek midsentence. Dean visibly winced at the strike and laid his head on his folded hands.

"I need you to _get_ this," Sam said, lashing the center of his brother's waiting rear once again. He watched Dean nod a little more vigorously against his hands.

"I don't want…" Sam reared back with all the power he could muster now, the belt slamming into denim. "…to have to do this again." Dean huffed again, his head still on his hands helping him to endure the pain. "Yes, Sam," he managed to push out with a slightly shaky voice.

"No.." The belt caught the tops of Dean's thighs.

"more…" Sam swung and smacked Dean dead center again.

"going…" Strike.

"alone." Sam punctuated that last word with a swing like he was going for a home run from first base. It got Dean back up on his hands now, bending deep at the waist from the sheer force of it, panting and hoping the shift in position would relieve some of the pain. He grunted aloud this time when another blow came down and took a second before he breathed, "Yes, Sam."

Dean hung his head again, squeezing his eyes shut as his breathed some more through the fire that was starting to consume his ass. He was just starting to be thankful for the protection of his jeans when Sam spoke again, this time without the enforcement of the belt.

"Lose 'em," Sam commanded.

Dean looked up and took a deep breath, momentarily forgetting that was coming next. He couldn't believe his own stubbornness that had led him here, but he nodded in obedience. Pushing off the table, he stood all the way up. Feeling Sam at his back made him bow his head and close his eyes once again as his fingers found the metal of his own belt closure and he began to undo it. He couldn't be too slow because that would earn him extra blows for keeping Sam waiting, but he wasn't exactly trying to seem anxious either.

Dean licked his lips as the belt buckle clanged, the leather ends falling open. He unfastened and unzipped his jeans, hearing Sam shuffle behind him. Take too much longer and Sam would grow impatient for sure.

Grabbing the waist of his jeans and his boxers – Why ask? He knew Sam wouldn't let him keep them. – he pulled them down past his knees and bent back over the table. Not bothering to act like he was man enough to take it standing again, braced on taut, outstretched arms, he instead leaned back down on his elbows, hands stretched before him, and slightly bowed his head as he awaited the first bare strike.

Sam wasted no time stepping back up, not even bothering to give Dean a number to count up to. This one would last until he was out of gas.

The first blow on Dean's already punished flesh re-lit the fire with even greater force and he gasped at the heat, but said nothing. Blow after blow fell upon him now, Sam no longer lecturing as he let the belt talk for him instead. He would smack Dean's left and right sides alternately, stepping back a bit more to give the belt room to be swung with heft. Dean huffed with each blow, clenching his ass as he did, biting his lower lip as he tried to stifle his cries.

Sam concentrated for a bit on Dean's thighs, which almost had Dean climbing further onto the table for relief, but he knew better than to try to escape the blows. Each smack came in rapid succession. This was Sam's attempt at mercy since he knew it would tire him out faster if he did this nonstop.

As the pain of the belt lighting into him grew deeper, Dean clenched his lips and his fists, pressing his head harder into his hands to give him a new place to focus. But he couldn't. He had lost count of the strikes on his bare skin around 20 and huffed more and more out loud while Sam seemed to have endless energy to whip him.

Who knows what count they were at now, but Dean was gasping audibly. He suddenly noticed wetness on his face, unsure as to exactly when the tears began to escape. He slowly pushed up again, his arms taking the brunt of the force he felt from the belt and it was then Sam could begin to hear the quiet sobbing he was waiting for. He had to make sure Dean was properly contrite before he'd let up. He needed to break his brother if he was going to build him up again.

Dean gasped aloud again at the next blow, and Sam slowed, cocking his head to see if he could see Dean's face. But his brother's head was low and all he could hear clearly was another sniff before Dean whispered, "I'm sorry, Sam."

His heart pierced, Sam straightened instead of raising his arm again, bringing the belt back to his side. Dean was not yet aware that the belt had stopped. He was in full confession mode now and had essentially taken over punishing himself by humbling himself further before his little brother.

"You were right. I deserve this," he sniffed. "I'm out of control and angry and stubborn and you were right that you have to make me listen." Dean sniffed again, his voice hitching as the fire in his ass continued to engulf him despite the lack of further lashes. "I was going to kill him and screw everything up. I put us both in danger and God knows what else could have happened. I'm so sorry, Sam." Dean continued to sniff, jumping when he felt his brother's comforting hand suddenly on his back.  
"Hey," Sam whispered. "Hey. It's ok, Dean. We're done here." Sam shifted the belt to his left hand and placed it quietly on the table as he rubbed his brother's back. "We're done. You're good now, D."

Dean's tears blurred his vision, but he looked up sadly into Sam's sympathetic eyes and nodded his understanding. "Sorry, Sam," he said again, pushing back slowly to retrieve and pull up his clothes. Sam stepped back to give him room to adjust, picking up his own belt now to loop back through his jeans.

"Dean," he said quietly, looking intently at his brother as he finished fastening his belt. He waited until Dean was looking back at him. "You're forgiven. Let's move on, huh?" Dean gave Sam a small smile and nodded shyly, crossing his arms and looking back at the floor once again. Sam wanted desperately to hug his brother, but knew Dean wouldn't be able to endure this moment too much longer as it was. It was the epitome of a chick flick moment - well, a disciplined chick, that is - and he was only allowed so many of those in a year.

Sam chuckled and opted for lightly slapping his brother's back instead. "It's ok, man. Let's go get a beer so you can nurse that ass of yours, huh?" Dean huffed a small laugh. "Yeah, ok," Dean replied. He winced slightly as he finally began to walk again after what seemed to be forever. Sam would give him the dignity of not noticing and walked ahead of him to give him some space.

"You go," he told Dean. "I'll get the beers."

"OK," Dean responded, not sure he'd have the energy to go too much past the library right now despite all those hard chairs. But the library was as far as he got because his legs simply needed to rest.

Dean sat carefully at the center table, his forehead resting on folded hands. He never meant for Sam to have to take him in hand like this, but he understood it and he knew he deserved it; he needed it – for all their sakes.

Sam walked carefully into the room, his former worry, anger and authoritarian demeanor melting back into the mild younger brother he usually was. He was now simply concerned that he hadn't hurt his brother too badly in his quest to reprimand him.

"Hey," Sam called. "You ok?" Dean didn't look to him like he was having too much trouble sitting, but he knew how prideful his older brother could be. He wouldn't want it to be too obvious that his little brother had successfully handed his ass to him. Instead he looked deep in thought.

"He said the river ends at the source," Dean replied.

"What's that mean?" Sam asked, placing the much-needed beer before his brother and willing to pretend for a moment that nothing had happened if Dean needed that to save face.

"Maybe nothing," Dean answered, accepting the cold brew, momentarily wishing he had asked Sam for some ice for his sore butt instead. "It was the last thing he said before you guys busted in."

 _"So maybe he can talk about the whipping after all,"_ Sam thought. "Dean, look, man," Sam said with mild frustration, pulling up a chair beside Dean ready to repeat himself if necessary. "We had to."

"Hey," Dean interrupted. "No, I get it. Alright, I…" Dean paused as he thought back to that moment. "I was going to kill 'em and I couldn't stop myself."

In that confession, Sam heard Dean's silent thanks for pulling him back to the right side of the line once again, even if he did have to snatch him back with the end of his belt. Sam nodded his own telepathic response reminding Dean he never needed to thank him for being there for him because it was his job and he was glad to accept it. "We'll figure it out, alright?" Sam said finally, unable to say any more on the subject. He wasn't sure how they would figure it out. He just knew they no longer had a choice.


End file.
